


For now

by SerpenLupus



Series: The last days at the monastery [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: ALMOST Character Death, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, You've been warned, blizzard LET THEM BE TOGETHER GODDAMNIT, brief mentions of wounds, idiocy, pinning, soft, some medical talk, technically, the fireship is sailing, this is an old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27541174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpenLupus/pseuds/SerpenLupus
Summary: Takes place between the battle of the thirty-three and mi fic Shadows of the Horde: Epilogue. Tyrathan healing, Vol'jin and the Pandarens helping. It's basically two idiots coming to terms with feelings they have felt growing, but haven't dared to address.
Relationships: Tyrathan Khort & Vol'jin, Tyrathan Khort/Vol'jin, tyrajin
Series: The last days at the monastery [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013013
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Part one, Tyrathan

**Author's Note:**

> Remember those 18K of Tyrajin fic I mentioned on twitter? Well this is a 1/3 8D  
> Please don't judge my 22 years old self's writting too harshly  
> (Oh, forgot to say, the space between Vol'jin arriving at the infirmary and before Tyrathan is standing is meant to be filled by the last time they speak in the book, when each one says that they're going back to their families)

The cold winds of the mountain whistled across the rocks and branches, keeping the human alert against any other sound. From where he was watching, he could see the light of big pyres in the Zandalari camps; they were a day and a half away from the monastery, at least.

His fingers played nervously on his bow, his other hand on the string, without an arrow. He bit his lower lip briefly and decided to sit on the rocks. The anxiety that roamed inside him was not because of the incoming battle, no; he couldn’t stop thinking about Vol’jin’s words.

The Troll had rejected Khal’ak’s offer first, and then he had called the Shadopan his family without a shadow of doubt in neither his voice nor his eyes. It… it had surprised him.

He felt part of those monks too, in a way he hadn’t felt before with any other group, and he was ready to die defending that place, because now it was his home, and because his own family didn’t need him anymore.

But it was different for Vol’jin. The Darkspears were his family, his responsibility. He said this, and yet, he was going to stay and fight for the Monastery. It was one of the most honorable acts he had ever seen. And yet, it was…

A sudden noise snapped his attention from these thoughts. In a blink he had an arrow ready and pointing to that place, but he sighed and lowered it when seeing Cuo. Tyrathan bowed apologetically, and the monk let him know it was fine with a simple gesture.

They swapped, now the hunter would patrol around and the pandaren would watch the enemy over the best position.

Without moving the arrow from his bow, the man started to wonder… was he worthy of the company of such people?

This doubt had been inside of him quite some time now… since what happened in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. It had been his fault they were captured, and even if good things had come from this, he couldn’t forgive himself for the deaths of those monks, and the awakening of Kao. At least, sister Quan-Li was still alive, and it meant that Morelan and his group were fine. He could go with… his family, and take care of them. After all, the hunter was going to die fighting for the monastery.

Tyrathan stopped a moment and looked towards the small camps that were a bit closer than the main one, letting out a long sigh. He wasn’t afraid of dying. _“None of us is, actually”_ he thought while walking again and putting the arrow back in his quiver. Suddenly the conversation he had had with Vol’jin popped out in his mind.

“ _I gonna hope for good wings, den_ ”

For a second, just for a second, he wished he had not interrupted the Troll. He wanted to know, what would the Darkspear have said? What kind of farewell could he expect, from him?

He would probably never know.

Stopping again and warming his hands with his breath, Tyrathan asked himself, how in the world had he managed to befriend Vol’jin?

At the beginning, even if he didn’t like the idea much, he had accepted to “coexist” with him. It didn’t mean it wasn’t hard though, but they bore each other fine enough. Picturing him as the Troll he met in Stranglethorn helped –a lot-. Actually, not seeing the Shadowhunter as who he was had helped in the start of their friendship.

Exhaling warm air on his fingers again, he wondered… had Vol’jin done the same? Had he just ignored who Tyrathan was? Saying that they weren’t the same people because they had died was a very good excuse for not killing each other, but it didn’t change what they had done in the past…

Shaking his head, the hunter decided that it didn’t matter. And if it ever did, without a future, it simply wouldn’t.

Pulling out a different arrow from his quiver and placing it on his bow, he started walking again.

* * *

Many Zandalari had gotten into the tunnels under the Monastery, and the Hunter had not been able to stop them.

At first.

Now, even if he barely believed he had achieved such a thing, most of those Trolls were dead or dying. Because of this, his whole body ached with fatigue. However, the battle was not over, so he went to the Sealed Chambers, where the sounds of the fight were stronger. His sword was slightly crooked, and his dagger was in the neck of one of those Zandalari, but he didn’t have time for recovering it, so he moved as fast as his pained leg would let him. Once he reached the chambers, the man chose to remain hidden, quickly preparing his arrows; he had not used any in the tunnels because of the darkness, and now it was the moment.

His emerald eyes spotted a Troll, his red hair impossible to mistake, and just his sight made Tyrathan smile. Vol’jin was alive, and maybe it wouldn’t be for much more time, but seeing how he was fighting, how he had surprised his enemy, and killed him, was enough for him to continue.

But, suddenly, before the Zandalari captain’s corpse fell, he noticed him.

The Mogu.

The Spear.

The man saw what was going to happen so clearly it hurt. Even if he made his best shot, it would be too late; he could kill the Mogu, but his weapon would have already reached- -

The hunter was running even before he had realized it. An insignificant human sprinting between pandaren and trolls, unnoticed, until he jumped towards the Darkspear and pushed him out of the way of the spear.

* * *

The world was darkness for Tyrathan. No sounds, touch, no cold or warmth, just… nothing. 

_“So this is how it feels to be dead”_

The thought didn’t scare him, he had accepted his fate, and this was no surprise. But, suddenly, some images appeared… memories?

The human saw a familiar face, and he remembered… the spear… the battle… Vol’jin. He saw his face, the face of his friend, covered in blood and looking at him with great sadness.

-….foolish humans….

The voice blurred, the Darkspear was speaking, but he could not understand his words. He knew he had said something, because he couldn’t stand the pain in those amber eyes.

Something snapped him out of those thoughts, something like… light? 

A strange voice echoed in his mind, unnatural and terrifying. 

“ _For now_ ”

His eyelids barely opened, but there was something that called his attention almost instantly.

Red hair.

His pupils slowly got used to the soft light of a candle, and, if he hadn’t been dead, Tyrathan would have smiled.

Vol’jin was asleep at his side, with his arms on the mattress and his face resting on them. 

_“Maybe I am a spirit?_ ” the hunter thought. He didn’t feel his body, and he knew that he had reached the other’s forehead with his fingertips only because he saw it. 

The Troll did not react to his touch, so he supposed he had become a ghost, just like he had told him before the battle…

“ _You are alive…”_

He started to travel his fingers through the other’s features, feeling something warm growing inside him. 

Vol’jin was the most beautiful sight the man had ever contemplated. Perhaps that was not the exact word to use, and it wasn’t about his looks exactly, but the man couldn’t think of any other word to use to describe what he saw at that moment. His troll had the beauty of an untamed beast, of a wild creature from the jungle; fierce, strong and proud… and caring, and protective too. It wasn’t difficult for him to picture the Darkspear as one of those raptor his kind so appreciated, violent and merciless towards his enemies, but also loyal, to the ones that gained their trust. 

He had seen both sides in Vol’jin; his desire to protect the ones he called family and friends, and how fierce and effective he was against his enemies. 

_“No one could ever tame you”_ he had thought when, at the isle of thunder, Vol’jin rejected the Zandalari offer. Tyrathan himself wouldn’t have blamed the Troll if he had accepted it, but, instead, he found another path of action, - just like in their jihui games, or his battle strategies - and had chosen the ones that earned his respect and trust instead of those who offered him power. The man felt proud, and really glad, of having had the chance to earn his respect and call him friend. If only, he could have told him so...

Suddenly the Troll opened his eyes, and Tyrathan wondered what could have awakened… He was looking at him? No… that wasn’t -

But then the Darkspear grabbed his hand and squeezed it, calling his name.

The man slowly blinked, realization hitting him.

He completely opened his eyes and tried to stand, but Tyrathan didn’t find enough strength in his limbs, and a terrible pain in his guts stopped him in his tracks.

-Stay still – said Vol’jin, placing his hands on the smaller shoulders. The man didn’t feel the touch – it be early for you to move.

The hunter blinked and realized… he was in the Infirmary? – Vol’jin? – He managed to extend his arm and place the palm on the bandages of his stomach. It hurt. – I’m… I’m alive?

The Shadowhunter nodded.

-But… how? I… the spear… 

-I healed ya.

-But…

-Ya be alive – he felt some pressure in his shoulders - ya be alive, and that’s everything that matters.

Tyrathan had never expected to hear him like this, so relieved, and at the same time so worried. Everything still felt on some level of surreal. 

The Troll offered him some water. He accepted it with shaky hands and drank, while the Darkspear held them. The man suddenly felt worry rising in his chest when he realized he couldn’t feel the touch.

-… How… for how long have I…? – He managed to ask, weakly licking his lips when his friend took the scoop away.

\- This would be the fourth day. – The Darkspear left the water on the table and helped him find a more comfortable position on the mattress. Tyrathan traveled his gaze across the Infirmary, but it was empty except for them.– Chen and Yalia are fine, Taran Zhu too – said his friend with an even voice – And one more survived.

The man nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes almost closing again in a small wince of pain. The Troll kneeled and carefully placed his palm on the bandages. It hurt a bit, but it was a thousand times better than feeling nothing.

-If it is too painful, I can go ask Yalia…

-No. No, please, stay… - With a big effort he reached the much larger hand with his own, trying to keep it there. It didn’t matter if he had to beg, he didn’t want Vol’jin to leave.

-I will be staying then. – The Troll placed his free arm on the mattress and then laid his head on it. Tyrathan didn’t stop looking at him until his eyelids became too heavy for keeping them open, but he knew he wouldn’t leave. It was enough, for now.

* * *

Half a day later, he woke up again. This time Chen was there too, and the brew master didn’t hesitate in giving the human a good warm hug – being extremely careful with his wound, of course – before going to find Yalia. The hunter weakly laughed when this happened, Chen’s cheerfulness being always welcomed. Vol’jin said nothing, only helping him drink some water until the two pandaren arrived.

The female was not as flamboyant as Chen, but she indeed was glad to see the man finally conscious. She checked his wound and decided that it was the best moment to change the bandages. However, instead of asking the two other males for help, Yalia sent them away. And there was no place for protest.

Tyrathan swallowed, a bit uncomfortable. Not for the company of the shadopan, but for the Troll’s absence. He needed his presence, his concerned gaze, his scent, the sound of his breath. He said nothing though – he was a grown adult -, and Yalia carefully unwrapped his bandages while he remained quiet. A huge mark of reddish flesh appeared beneath the cloth, and the human couldn’t look at it much time. He had been badly injured before, but, Light, he had almost been cut in two halves by that spear.

The monk nodded slightly. –It’s healing fast. – She said, looking relieved and glancing at her patient, offering him a soft smile – don’t worry, this wound is very unlikely to re-open. If you rest properly, of course. - Then she walked towards a small closet, picking up clean bandages. Back at his side, she carefully made him sit in order to properly bind him up and check his back. Yalia put the hunter’s right arm on her left shoulder, supporting his weight while she wrapped the bandages around the scarred belly. The female did it with care but effectively, like how Tyrathan had seen all the Shadopan work.

The man swallowed. – Sister Yalia… I’m sorry - _“I’m sorry for surviving_ ” said a voice inside his head “ _any of those monks deserved to live more than I do”._ – I’m sorry for your fallen brothers – he finally said, looking at his left. There was a moment of silence as he bit his lip.

-When we become Shadopan – she started, still binding him – we do it for protecting Pandaria, and the Balance. Dying for this is our greatest honor – making a small knot, the monk finished her job. It was neither too tight nor too loose, and it kept his spine perfectly in place. – Thank you for your words, Master Tyrathan. When we recover all of my brothers and sisters from the battleground, we will have the chance to properly say goodbye. I’m sure they are glad knowing that you are safe.

Yalia looked at him, and the Hunter could barely hold her gaze, so he closed his eyes and lowered his head in the best attempt of a bow he could manage in his state. The monk did the same and helped him lay down again.

Tyrathan wondered if pandarens could read minds too, making a small wince of pain when he reached his guts with one of his hands. Yalia sighed - Chen made a special tea for when you woke up, you think you have enough strength for drinking some? I’ll need just a minute to heat it.

Tyrathan answered with a quiet nod. The pandaren grabbed two more pillows and placed them at his back, helping him reach a half-sitting position and covering him with the blankets. Then, the female picked up the old bandages and walked away.

In that posture Tyrathan could breathe with more ease, but his limbs were too weak yet, so he simply traveled his gaze across the Infirmary. That’s when he saw the mat next to his bed, and his thoughts automatically went back to the Troll.

The human didn’t move his eyes from there. His thoughts so focused on that spot that he barely noticed the smell of tea, until Yalia spoke to him again. The man blinked and thanked her, but the monk didn’t let him hold the mug without her help.

After a few short sips he felt somehow better; at least he could sense the warmth of the drink in his hands and in his stomach. Tyrathan told the pandaren about this, and she nodded.

-But I can’t feel… nor move, my legs. – He admitted. Even if he tried to sound calm, Yalia didn’t miss the slight worry in his tone. She explained to him that this wound was very different from the one he received in his leg, because this time the nerve had been damaged.

-However, it is perfectly healed. You just need time to recover the connection with your body, nothing more. – She added when noticing the alarm in the human’s expression. The hunter swallowed and nodded, feeling his eyelids heavier. Yalia helped him drink a bit more of the Tea before telling him to simply sleep. – It is better than any healing spell.

Following her advice wasn’t really difficult.

* * *

Barely three hours later, he woke up again. Yalia was still at his side, reading a scroll that looked like it had been opened and closed too many times.

-He has been very worried– said the female pandaren after giving him some more warm tea. Tyrathan startled a bit with this comment, realizing that he hadn’t stopped looking at the mat right next to his bed – we all have, actually, but he didn’t leave your side these last days.

The man straightened his position on the mattress a bit more, surprised and embarrassed. When had he become so easy to read?

-I’m sorry I worried you all so much, sister Yalia – the hunter tried to not focus his thoughts on Vol’jin after feeling his stomach jump. The Shadopan gave him a soft smile, filling the mug with more tea and then placing the kettle right next to it.

-It is natural, but we knew you would wake up. – Instead of sitting down, the monk went next to the tiny wardrobe again. There, she picked up new bandages and a small pot made of wood, placing all in the small table when she went back. Tyrathan followed her with his gaze, but said nothing.

-Rest master hunter, it’s the best you can do now – Yalia said while making him lay down. The man didn’t protest; when he was recovering from his broken leg, he had learnt to listen to her advice. Tyrathan closed his eyes when she started to cover him with the blanket again, and tried to sleep. He was tired and his body barely had any energy, so it wasn’t really difficult, but a touch in his chest distracted him.

Tyrathan Khort opened his eyes and looked at Vol’jin.

The man blinked, and the Shadowhunter slowly took back his arm – sorry, didn’t want to wake you.

-Is alright – he said in a low voice. He was glad he had stopped touching him, his heart had suddenly started to wildly beat in his chest – I wasn’t really asleep…

-… you should.

The human gave him a warm smile. The Darkspear looked away. – Yalia said you have been here with me the whole time. You must be tired.

-I be fine.

-Don’t be foolish, you should sleep too..

\- What did I tell you about calling a troll a fool?

He weakly laughed when listening to this. Tyrathan thought about apologizing this time, instead, he timidly extended his arm towards Vol’jin. The Troll reached his hand, carefully wrapping the smaller one with his own. The man started to move his fingers through that palm, cursing inside his mind because he couldn’t reach the warmth of that blue skin.

-What’s wrong?

-My whole body feels numb… I… can‘t feel you’re touching me… - he murmured, his eyelids starting to close.

-You’ll be standing and walking around in a few days, you’ll see.

The hunter managed to nod before definitely falling asleep.

* * *

Tyrathan recovered the sensibility of his upper half soon, the first day; however, his legs needed more time. It was quite frustrating, although the Troll didn’t leave him alone too often, so they played Jihui or simply talked.

At this point, he started to realize that there was something different.

Chen and Yalia’s company made him feel really comfortable and the Brew master was, with no doubt, cheerful, but Vol’jin… with the Darkspear, he felt relaxed, and when he opened his eyes just to find two amber pupils watching at him, a smile always appeared on his face.

The second day he had more energy, and Yalia said it was the best time for giving him some soft food, so his stomach would start working. At this point he could also move his feet a little. It wasn’t much, but it was better than anything.

Tyrathan spent a whole hour clenching, unclenching and moving his toes, with the Troll right next to him with an amused expression.

-Ya sure be having fun. – He said, touching the thumb of the human’s left foot. The man chuckled, not because the contact tickled, he still didn’t feel that part of his body, but because of the spontaneous action.

-It’s more entertaining than playing Jihui with you – he teased, earning an annoyed snort.

It wasn’t until the third day that he -partially- recovered the movement in his lower half. Taking away the blanket, the human tried to flex his knees first. A weird sensation traveled across his spine, almost as if his brain didn’t quite recognize the sensation of having legs. There was no one else in the infirmary, so he simply placed his bare feet on the ground. It was cold, and it made him shiver. He never thought he would miss something like that.

Clenching and unclenching his toes, the hunter looked around, trying to find something for his feet... Yes, maybe a little big for him, but those slippers would serve his purpose. He managed to put them on without using his hands, just when Vol’jin entered the room.

* * *

In that standing position he felt strangely proud of himself. His weakened legs could support his weight without hurting much; maybe he could start walking soon.

However, the Troll made no comment, helping him sit and dressing him with the upper part of a novice’s uniform.

-What are you doing?

-We are gonna take a walk - and before he could ask again, the Darkspear added – I’ll carry you.

Carry him?? -What? Wait, Vol’jin… - but before he could say something else, he had been lifted by the Troll. Tyrathan couldn’t avoid feeling a strange and nervous sensation roaming inside his chest, apart from the impression that he was rather small. When the Darkspear lowered his gaze, the man glared back at him, earning an amused snort.

-Oh, I see you find this funny.

-Just your face – he answered, walking outside the infirmary with relaxed steps. The human shifted his position a few times, not because he was uncomfortable there, but rather the opposite. He was too comfortable between those arms. The warm feeling inside his chest had grown to a point that he couldn’t ignore it, or what it meant, much more time.

A smell like pine and sea invaded his nose when they arrived at that room. Tyrathan recognized the statues, and he understood why Vol’jin had taken him there.

The Troll carefully placed him on the ground; his legs were strong enough to let him stand, still, he kept his hand on the blue arm to support himself. Seconds later, they bowed before the figures of the deceased monks.

For a short moment Tyrathan hesitated, a heavy weight clinging in his chest when he glanced at his right, to the Darkspear. Then, he humbly asked for the forgiveness of these monks, and thanked them.

The human owed them much; his life, his sanity… if he could walk again, it was thanks to their care. If he had managed to befriend Vol’jin, it was thanks to their philosophy. Staying in that monastery had freed him from his doubts, and many other things. And yet, he felt as if he had not done enough to thank them. He wished, deeply wished, he could have saved more of these Monk’s lives. However, the Darkspear’s words about Larsi, and Yalia’s about her deceased brothers and sisters, had made him understand that he couldn’t let this feeling take over him, like he had done most of his time.

They had given him a second chance, and he couldn’t waste this new life with the doubts and burdens from his old self.

The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, moving his hand down until he reached one of the Troll’s thick fingers, gripping it and thanking the shadopans once more. A shiver came across his spine when Vol’jin softly squeezed his hand, making him smile briefly before both straightened their positions.

He wouldn’t live with regrets like his past identity, he had promised that to himself, and now to the monks he had battled with. He didn’t say a word when the Troll lifted him again and they made their way back to the infirmary, his mind focused on one single thought that concerned the Shadowhunter.

* * *

When Chen came, not much after that, Tyrathan thanked him. He owed him as much as to the Monks, for he had been the one that brought him to the monastery and helped him heal his body, while his good humor and his cheerful ways helped him heal his soul.

He didn’t say the last part out loud, but it wasn’t necessary for making the pandaren fluster. The Brew master smiled and patted his shoulders, embarrassed from those sincere words, and happy too.

 _“You didn’t need to say this”_ he had said. Oh, but he _wanted_ to say it, for all he had done for him, Chen deserved, at least, his honesty.

They didn’t talk much more; Tyrathan had been awake too much time, and his eyes started to close.

* * *

The next two days happened in a blur. The others finished taking away the troll corpses from inside the Temple, and Tyrathan managed to make his first steps; at the beginning with both the aid of the Darkspear and the pandarens, then, with crutches. He felt as if he had to learn to walk again. Again.

In this time, the man also accepted the importance behind the warm feeling inside his chest. He knew its meaning, he probably should have known for a long time, and he wasn’t stupid enough to keep denying it. The question was… what could he do with it?

It had happened at the worst moment. It didn’t mean he hated feeling like that, or that it was bad, but… to feel like that, towards his friend… it wasn’t good either. It was _terribly ridiculous,_ not only falling for a troll but.. . from all the trolls there could be in Azeroth, he had fallen for _Vol’jin._

“ _Have I simply gone mad?”_

Tyrathan Khort reached his crutches and stood with some difficulties, trying to distract himself _._

In that moment two familiar faces appeared in the infirmary; Sister Quan-li and Vol’jin.

The human was glad to see the female monk, and they exchanged polite reverences. The Shadopan thanked the hunter for his part in the Monastery’s defense and also informed him about Morelan Vanyst. It seemed he had gone back home. That made him feel relieved, and convinced even further in his resolve of going back too.

After she left, the hunter went closer to his friend; he wanted to give it a try, but, before he could even open his mouth, the Darkspear spoke.

-I be leaving tomorrow. - That voice had sounded unexpectedly harsh.

Tyrathan looked at him with a hint of pain in his eyes, but he quickly hid it while straightening his body with the help of the crutches – I see. Too much work waiting in Kalimdor, hm?

The Troll simply nodded.

The human walked back to his bed with relative ease, trying to not show his friend how physically weak he had suddenly felt. Sitting in the border and placing the crutches next to him, he said one more thing, hoping to sound natural. – Then I wish you the best of lucks.

Vol’jin nodded again. – I hope ya be fully recovered soon and can go home too, Tyrathan Khort.

They stared at each other for seconds that were like hours, until the Darkspear broke the eye contact and left the place, leaving the hunter in a lonely silence.

Yalia appeared a few minutes later to check his healing and take care of him the rest of the afternoon, since Chen and Vol’jin had to prepare their travel, but he didn’t say a word. His mind was too focused in the realization that this calm and light routine of healing had come to an end.

* * *

_"He is leaving tomorrow"._

It was the sixth time this thought had crossed his mind that night, and it was driving him crazy. Tyrathan bit his lower lip while reaching a standing position on the mattress.

Why.

Why did he have to feel like this towards his friend, towards a Troll - - towards Vol’jin.

Letting out a pained groan, the man covered his face with his hands.

He tried to take a deep breath, to calm his mind. It was selfish, but he didn’t want him to go. Not like this, not before he could tell him… 

Tell him what? That he was losing his mind for him? Had probably been for a while now? That the idea of his absence was too painful? He had said what he had said. Both needed to take different paths to mend their own families. It was the right thing to do. And he had promised him an arrow for Garrosh, so it wasn’t like this was a definitive goodbye.

But...

He had promised not to lie to himself anymore, but there was an abysmal difference between accepting he had these feelings… and actually telling Vol’jin.

Tyrathan violently exhaled through his nose. It took him a bit of effort, but he reached his crutches and stood. What if they didn’t see each other ever again? Even if they had made a promise, the chances of meeting again in peace were so, so few. He couldn’t- - he wouldn’t let him leave without telling him the truth.

His legs were still a bit clumsy, and the pain in his guts made walking a hard task. Still, he made his way out of the infirmary. The corridor looked a lot longer than he remembered, but that didn’t relent him. Taking a deep breath, and accompanied only by the sound of wood against stone, Tyrathan started to walk towards the cells.

He had to stop a few times to catch air tho, and, in those short breaks, he started to doubt.

Was it really a good idea? To tell him the truth? …and which was the truth exactly?

Leaning his body against the wall, the human breathed.

He had ignored those feelings due to the tensions of battle, and now… was it early to call it love? Was it right to do this?

Tyrathan swallowed and continued his walk. No. No, the Troll was leaving the next day, he had to tell him while he still could.

But… he didn’t know if Vol’jin felt the same way. Out of all things, he was sure that the Darkspear cared about him. However, it was friendship, and it had taken lots of effort and time for them to build that.

The hunter took two steps back. He wasn’t near close enough to the cells, yet…

Another step back, and Tyrathan bit his lower lip.

Was it worth the try? There was almost no chance of a good “end” for this. Was he going to risk it, just for those feelings that could change once they got separated?

The man shook his head and took a step forward; those were just excuses. Tyrathan could stand the pain in his guts and could endure the rest of the way to the Troll’s cell; he wasn’t going to let his mind and his doubts make him falter, not now that he wouldn’t have a second chance.

As if by divine providence, a head full of wildfire red hair appeared from the other end of the stone corridor at that moment.

-Tyrathan? - The Darkspear went next to him in two long strides – you insane? – his voice sounded worried when he supported the smaller body to ease the weight on his limbs – you be not rec- -

-I’m fine – he almost hissed, relieved for the help. Vol’jin managed to hold him and make him look at his face too.

-What are you doing here? – The Troll seemed surprised.

-I wanted… - Tyrathan tried to even his breathing and swallowed – I needed to speak with you.

-Couldn’t it wait ‘til tom- -

-No, it couldn’t. – Was the quick answer – tomorrow you’d be gone, and I need to tell you this now. – He had to inhale deep again because of his need for air.

Vol’jin closed his mouth and helped the human sit on the ground while he kneeled at his side.

-... well?

The man looked into his eyes, glancing down almost instantly. -I… I decided not to lie to myself anymore, yet, I’ve kept hesitating. There are many things I’ve wanted to say, but I didn’t… and now… - _Wonderful_ , he had walked _all_ this way, and he had been so focused in convincing himself of telling him, that he had simply not thought about what to say. - I… I can’t let you leave without… I have to make things clear.

Oh, yeah. How in Azeroth was he going to do _that_ ? It had never been easy for him to talk about his emotions. Leaving that aside, Vol’jin was not _human._ How the hell could he tell a male troll, a few heads taller than himself and twice wider, that he had developed certain “romantic feelings” towards him? He was seriously questioning his own sanity in that moment, but he couldn’t just stand and leave- - and not only because he physically wasn’t able to.

Swallowing again, the human closed his eyes and finally said – I… I am a man of actions, not words.

Tyrathan politely requested the Darkspear to lean closer, and he placed his hands on that blue neck. His thumbs reached the lower part of two long and pointed ears when he eased his head between the space of his tusks, ending with their noses pressed against each other.

He waited a beat, and then went closer, leaving a soft kiss against Vol’jin’s closed mouth, giving him the chance to draw back. Tyrathan had expected to be shoved away instantly, but he wasn’t, and once he had started, he just kept going. He slid his tongue and opened those blue lips, tangling his fingers in the red hair and deepening the kiss, not worried by the sharp fangs he found in the way, an uncontrollable joy rising in his chest. 

He noticed how the Shadowhunter managed to keep up, although clumsily. It was strange to think that maybe he had never kissed before, but at the same time, those tusks didn’t really look like they would make things easy. It was by sheer luck that Tyrathan’s head fit between them, it seemed. 

Vol’jin tilted his head, just a bit, and the human deepened the contact, giving small bites to the Troll’s lower lip. As answer, the Darkspear grabbed the man and lifted his body, making him sit on his lap. Now, the hunter could reach much better the mouth he was longing for, making sure not a single hint of it remained unexplored.

Three fingered hands moved across the smaller body, drawing the lines of muscle and the bandages of his back with its talons. It made the human shiver a few times, but he didn’t break the kiss until both of them ran out of air, a short while later.

The hunter kept his head at eye level with his troll, barely moving, barely breathing, and with his hands still tangled in red locks of hair. 

… now... what?

-… Tyrathan – the Darkspear called. The man blinked, remaining silent. The wide hands that rested on his hips were cold, probably because the troll had been standing outside for a while. His face however, irradiated warmth, and even in the dim light of the corridor, one could appreciate a touch of redness from his nose to the tip of those long ears. - Tyrathan... - Vol’jin repeated - … what the hell.

The hunter blinked again, as if his mind was slowly coming back on track. First his lips trembled, curving upwards, and then the smile was so wide that it finally broke out in laughter. Vol’jin couldn’t help it, and joined him.

They should have cared if someone listened to them, but they were honestly, freely and happily laughing, because this was a weird scenario, to say the least.

The Troll and the Human pressed their foreheads together, amber reflecting in emerald, and vice versa. - I hope my actions… were clear enough? - Tyrahan asked in a small voice, nearing a whisper.

His companion smiled, and moved back slightly - I think I understand - the Darkspear said softly. He moved back enough that the hunter’s face was no longer framed by his tusks, and then came close again by his side. The troll then rubbed his tusks against Tyrathan’s neck and shoulders, moving upwards to his ear, his temple, brushing against his hair, slowly, softly. He did this a couple of times, and all the while, Tyrathan remained still, feeling impossibly warm. He had never seen a troll do this, but given that this gesture made shivers run up his spine, and the situation they were in, it was easy to understand. It felt intimate, soft. The man pressed the side of his face against Vol’jin’s when he stopped, and the troll’s sigh graced his ear when they both relaxed. 

-I better take you back to the Infirmary. – Finally interrupted the Darkspear. His companion nodded. Tyrathan clung on the blue neck, and the Darkspear picked up the crutches with a hand, carefully lifting the smaller body with the other. While they walked back to the medical wing, the man let himself feel comfortable while being carried, this time without worry. He noticed a sudden change in the other’s heartbeats, but said nothing. He was tired, very tired, but happy at the same time. His “walk” would cost him lots of pain the next day, but it had been worth it. All the worries he had felt when he had finally reached Vol’jin had disappeared as if they had never existed, and the man wondered, why was it always the presence of this Troll the thing that made his doubts vanish?

His eyes were closed when the Shadowhunter carefully left him in the bed, but he wasn’t asleep at all, and he grabbed the other’s sleeve the moment he felt him going away.

Vol’jin sighed and sat on the mattress.

The hunter, however, wasn’t content with this, and he managed to move his weakened body to suggestively leave more space in the bed. The Troll chuckled, easing himself under the sheets and surrounding the smaller body with his arms. Tyrathan extended one hand and reached Vol’jin’s beard, touching it with his index and his thumb. He enjoyed its color and the way it moved under his fingers, and for some reason he didn’t quite recall, the hunter started a braid with a small part of it.

Sadly, his eyelids became too heavy for finishing it, and his hand stilled. 

The Troll smiled and rubbed his tusks against the hoary hair once more. - Sleep.

The human nodded, and finally closed his eyes while two amber irises watched him smile.

* * *

Tyrathan woke up slowly. He blinked once, then twice, until his eyes were used to the morning light. The second thing that reached his brain was the pain in his legs, making him wince for a few seconds and take a sharp breath.

The third thing he realized was that he was alone in his bed. The man blinked again and extended his right arm, feeling a soft warmth on the mattress. His hand clenched on the sheets at first, reaching out to the pillow from that side of the bed and burying his face against it. He never thought he would need his scent so much, or that his absence would be so painful.

Tyrathan Khort remained like that, hugging the pillow against his features in complete and silent sadness.

“ _No fond farewells”_ he thought bitterly _._

Not many hours later, when the pain was weak enough to let him walk outside the bed and peek from the window, he could see the Shadopan leader and the Troll at the front door, probably waiting for Chen. 

He noticed that Vol’jin had been directing his gaze towards the building, towards _him,_ but quickly glancing back to the Brew master, as if trying to hide this action. Taran Zhu looked at them for a long minute, the three in silence, and then, he made a deep and respectful bow. The two outsiders quickly corresponded the gesture, and they stood like that for a good amount of time.

After that, Vol’jin glanced back to the temple only once more, and then turned to the mountain’s path with his old friend.

Tyrathan Khort wished he had felt strong enough to be at the entrance and properly say good-bye to his friends. Chen had came not much earlier, just to wish him a fast recovery and saying “We will meet again”, but he had not spoken with the Darkspear since the previous night.

He wished he could have been able to wish him a safe trip, or, at least…

Feeling his legs tremble by the sole effort of standing, the man decided to go back to his bed, which, thankfully, was not that far from the window. Still, his steps were slow, and his thoughts went back to the troll, and the arrow.

Finally reaching the corner of his bed, and using one of its posts as support, he decided that the Darkspear had considered their promise of meeting again as the best way of saying goodbye. After their talk the day of the Zandalari's attack, it made sense; still, he was slightly annoyed for waking up without his presence next to him.

With a pained sigh, Tyrathan finally sat down on the mattress, touching his bandages with a hand. He had to focus on recovering as fast as he could in order to help the monks again with their tasks, but, for now, his body needed rest.

The human started to move his pillows, so he could stay more comfortable, until a sudden trace of red popped out from beneath them. For a second he thought it was a blood stain, but quickly discarded the idea when moving the sheets. After a second of surprise, he smiled.

Not trying to hide a soft laugh, he picked that up with his free hand.

-When did you…? – he almost whispered, not expecting any answer while looking at the small lock of red hair, tied with a thin thong, that was resting on his palm.


	2. Part two, Vol'jin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time for Vol'jin's perspective.

It had been two days already, and the human had not woken up.

The traces of the battle remained in the monastery, because not even the snow could cover what had happened there. A couple of monks that Taran zhu ordered to aid and prepare the villagers had come back the second day, but they were sent to new destinies with new tasks almost immediately. The war against the Thunder King and the Zandalari had just begun, and there was no time to lose.

Still, Chen, Yalia, Vol’jin and the other Shadopan that had survived recovered the corpses of their brothers from the battleground. The cold wouldn’t let the bodies rot, but it didn’t mean they deserved such treatment.

The Troll couldn’t do much more though; he had been back with Tyrathan soon, barely leaving his side since then. He was worried, really worried. 

The Shadowhunter had managed to heal his terrible wound, and Bwomsamdi had allowed him to keep his soul…

“ _For now_ ”.

Those two words, plus the fact that the human didn’t wake up, terrified him. The Loa, like any God, were very capricious. What if that _for now_ ended before the human…? Vol’jin couldn’t stand the idea.

Now he was sitting on the floor, looking at Tyrathan’s calm expression with unease.

Reaching out his left arm, the Troll placed his large hand on the smaller chest, feeling how it rose and fell with each breath. The sensation was soothing, and he focused on it, closing his eyelids and mimicking the rhythm unconsciously.

He almost fell asleep, but the gentle touch of a paw in his shoulder startled him, his eyes wide open.

Chen was looking at him with concern. -You look tired.

-’S nothing.

Vol’jin rubbed his nose, noticing the soft smell of tea. The brew master placed the plate on the small table, but he didn’t look for a chair.

-How’s your arm?

The pandaren laughed and moved his extremity with ease – it wasn’t a big wound, so it’s recovered. Can’t punch anyone yet, thought. – He added with a wink. – I forgot to thank you.

Vol’jin smiled. - I am glad to know.

Chen sighed and finally grabbed a seat next to the Troll, offering him a mug with the warm drink. The Darkspear hesitated before accepting it with both hands.

-You should rest, old friend- patiently said the brew master, inhaling the steam of his own cup with a soft smile. - You know what Yalia said, you healed him well. He is going to be fine.

-I… know.

Chen raised an eyebrow, and Vol’jin cursed in his mind.

Taking a long sip of his drink, the pandaren thought in silence for a few moments. 

-Why wouldn’t he?

The Shadowhunter bit his inner cheek before giving his answer. – In that moment he was ready to die, Chen. He…said he’d be dying happy, that it be fine to let him go. - “ _For now_ ”, the memory of the spectral voice repeated in his head. – I fear he won’t be waking up.

The wanderer looked troubled, but he quickly shook his head. 

-Don’t think that. You know he is strong; he recovered from the wound of his leg and from the blizzard. He will recover from this - he said, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. – Now, you should rest too. You won’t be able to properly take care of him when he wakes up if you are as tired as him - he chuckled.

The Troll slowly nodded, slightly relieved because of those words, but too worried to follow the advice.

Chen finished his tea. – If it makes you feel better, I could ask Yalia to come and check him. She wouldn’t mind, and she is worried too.

-No, do not bother her– briefly glancing down to his cup, he took a deep breath – it will be fine, you be right.

The pandaren nodded. His golden eyes resting on Tyrathan before he spoke again. – What are your plans after he wakes up?

The Troll didn’t even think the answer – The Horde needs me.

Chen smiled – then, count me in for taking you back and helping with everything.

Vol’jin frowned. – Ya don’t need to – they had just survived a terrible battle, the least he wanted to do was drag his old friend into another fight.

Not only did the Brew master laugh, but he also patted that wide, blue back while standing – I’m afraid you can’t change my mind Vol’jin. Oh, and drink the tea before it gets cold - he added, leaving the kettle on the tiny table and going back to his tasks.

When he left, the Troll put his mug away. It smelt like a calming infusion, and he thanked Chen’s good intentions, but he was afraid of falling asleep. Once more, he placed his large hand on the pale chest, making sure it rose and fell, making sure that the heart inside kept beating.

* * *

Another day passed, and the hunter didn’t wake up.

In the end Yalia went to visit him too, and she scolded the Darkspear for his lack of sleep. He would have put up a fight, or said anything, if she hadn’t placed her paws on the human’s forehead. Then she moved them to his chest, and finally checked the bandages that covered the huge scar. The soft glow in her hands disappeared after a minute.

-You don’t have to worry, he is healing. He just needs time. - Vol’jin nodded, and she sighed while giving him a disapproving look – and you really should rest. – She added, pointing to the next bed, the one he had occupied at the very beginning.

-I prefer the ground – he protested, and the female sighed again.

-Alright, but _sleep._ A tired healer can’t work properly.

Then she left, leaving the Shadowhunter to his watching.

* * *

Vol’jin felt something touching his forehead, but he couldn’t see anything. He realized then that he had closed his eyes, so he forced himself to open them, thinking that it was Chen who was trying to wake him up. However, those fingers were too small for belonging to…

The Troll opened his eyelids completely, staring at the human thanks to the light of a candle. Tyrathan khort had managed to extend his right hand, and was weakly drawing the Darkspear’s factions with one of his digits; his cheekbones, his nose, his lips… all with slow and tender movements.

The look in the hunter’s face was peaceful and… full of affection.

For a second, Vol’jin feared that he was dreaming. That the man had not woken up and he was witnessing a cruel illusion. He grabbed the caring hand with his own, slightly squeezing it.

-Tyrathan?

The human blinked a few times, and then his eyes, that had been half shut, were wide open with realization. It looked like the Troll was not the only one that believed to be dreaming.

The hunter suddenly tried to stand up in surprise, but his limbs were too weak for allowing that. The sudden movement and the pain in his guts made him hiss.

-Stay still – said Vol’jin, placing his hands on the smaller shoulders – it be early for you to move.

The man blinked again, confused – Vol’jin? –he looked around, finally realizing where he was. Placing his palm on the bandages, he glanced towards the Troll again – I’m… I’m alive?

The Shadowhunter felt his stomach twist when listening to those words. He could only nod.

-But… how? I… the spear…

-I healed ya – his voice sounded strangled, and he forced himself to swallow.

-But…

-Ya be alive - said the Troll, softly squeezing his shoulders - ya be alive and that be everything that matters.

Vol’jin repressed his strong need to embrace the human, knowing that it could hurt him, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Instead, he offered him some water, holding those shaky hands while the man slowly drank.

-… How… for how long have I…? – He asked, weakly licking his lips when his friend took the scoop away.

-... this would be the fourth day. – The Darkspear left the water on the table and helped him find a more comfortable position on the mattress. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Tyrathan looked at the empty infirmary. – Chen and Yalia be fine, Taran Zhu too – he really tried to remember the name of the last monk, but failed. – And one more survived.

The man nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes almost closing again in a small wince of pain. The Troll kneeled and carefully placed his palm on the bandages.

-If it’s too painful, I can go ask Yalia…

-No. No, please, stay… - the man managed to reach the much larger hand with his own, trying to keep it there.

The gesture was so defenseless, so frail, that the only thing Vol’jin could do was sit on the floor and whisper -I’ll be staying then. – Placing his free arm on the mattress and then laying his head on it, he observed Tyrathan fall asleep with a peaceful expression. The Shadowhunter didn’t know who to thank, if the Loa, for allowing this, or the human, for not giving up.

His ears dropped, his eyes starting to close again while his thick fingers interlaced with smaller ones from the human’s hand. Relief invaded him together with tiredness, but this time he didn’t fight it.

* * *

Half a day later, Tyrathan woke up again. This time Chen was there too, and the brew master didn’t hesitate in giving the human a good warm hug – being extremely careful with his wound, of course – before going to find Yalia. The hunter weakly laughed when this happened, and Vol’jin felt his guts twist again when listening to him. He said nothing, just helping his friend drink some water until the two pandaren arrived.

The female was not as flamboyant as Chen, but she indeed was glad to see the man finally conscious. She checked his wound and decided that it was the best moment to change the bandages. However, instead of asking the two other males for help, Yalia sent them away. And there was no place for protest.

It helped Vol’jin stretch his legs outside the infirmary, and he decided to follow Chen and help with everything he could.

The snow crunched under his bare feet, but the cold didn’t bother him. There was much to do, and he needed to keep his mind away from the hunter.

For now.

After a few hours, the Darkspear was walking towards the infirmary again.

Even if the human was in good hands, he couldn’t help being worried.

However, when he arrived at the medical wing’s corridor, he stopped. Tyrathan was his friend; it was perfectly natural to be concerned about his well being. Still, he was not acting “natural”. He really, really _needed_ to know the human was completely alright at each second, he _needed_ to be the one making sure of it.

Licking the inside of one of his tusks, he decided to believe that it was his feeling of responsibility over the other’s life, and nothing more, that made him feel like this.

When he went into the infirmary, he found Yalia gently pulling the sheets over Tyrathan’s chest, whose eyes were shut again. She noticed his presence and made a reverence, going next to him then. Vol’jin answered with a respectful bow too, and the female used her chance to quietly whisper – There is no sight of infection and the flesh is closed, however, we’re going to keep him bandaged. And make sure he doesn’t move much.

The Troll nodded. He noticed there was something she wasn’t telling him, but both exchanged polite reverences and said nothing more while she left the place and he went next to the bed.

Crossing his legs, the Darkspear sat on the floor once more and carefully placed his hand on the human’s chest, feeling how it rose and fell.

Tyrathan Khort opened his eyes and looked at Vol’jin, who froze.

The man blinked, and the Shadowhunter slowly took back his arm – sorry, didn’t want to wake you.

-It’s alright – he said in a low voice – I wasn’t really asleep…

-… you should.

The human gave him a warm smile, and, for a reason he didn’t quite understand, the Darkspear avoided his gaze. – Yalia said you have been here with me the whole time. You must be tired.

-I be fine.

-Don’t be foolish, you should sleep too.

He let out an annoyed snort – What did I tell you about calling a troll fool?

The weak laugh felt like a blessing for those long and pointed ears, and he licked the inside of his left tusk while Tyrathan timidly extended his arm towards him. Vol’jin reached his hand, carefully wrapping the smaller one with his own. He had to hold back a smile when he felt small and calloused fingers drawing circles in his palm.

-What’s wrong? – The Troll asked, noticing a grimace in the other’s face.

-My whole body feels numb… I can barely feel you’re touching me… - he murmured, his eyelids starting to close.

-You’ll be standing’ and walking’ around in a few days, you’ll see.

The hunter managed to nod before definitely falling asleep.

While slowly caressing the other’s forehead, Vol’jin realized that he could not stay with the human long enough to see him fully recovered.

* * *

The Darkspear spent the next two days between the Sealed Chambers and the Infirmary, helping Chen in the search of “bodies”. They found the last monk in the tunnels under the monastery, surrounded by Zandalari corpses. There, Vol’jin noticed how many had the human killed, and probably there would be more outside, but he didn’t need to find them, for now. 

Tyrathan recovered the sensibility of his upper half the first day, but his legs needed more time. It was quite frustrating, but the Troll didn’t leave him alone too much time, so they played Jihui or simply talked.

The second day he could move his toes a little, but it wasn’t until the third when he -partially- recovered the movement in his lower half. He was sitting on the mattress and trying to put a pair of slippers on when Vol’jin appeared.

* * *

Looking at the man that stood in front of him, a sudden realization hit Vol’jin. The Horde, like this hunter, was wounded, hurt, weak, unable to support itself much longer.

The red faction needed someone to mend its injuries, someone to help it stand and walk again until it was strong enough to do it on its own. And, unlike in the human’s situation, there was no one else willing to take care of it… except himself.

Remembering why he had gone there in the first place, the Darkspear swallowed and helped the human sit again. Then, he looked for the upper part of a novice’s uniform, dressing his friend with it.

-What are you doing?

-We are taking a walk - he answered, fixing the belt around the human’s waist carefully. Tyrathan raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask again, Vol’jin added. - I’ll carry you.

-What? Wait, Vol’jin - -

The Troll simply put his arms under those smaller knees and shoulders, lifting him with ease. When he glanced down to see if he was hurting the man, the Shadowhunter found that he was glaring at him.

A snort escaped from his nostrils; the hunter appeared to be smaller like that.

-Oh, I see you find this funny.

-Just your face – he answered, walking outside the infirmary with relaxed steps, feeling how Tyrathan shifted a bit between his arms, more than once. Vol’jin didn’t look at him again, understanding that he was feeling uncomfortable, but he didn’t know any other way of taking him to that place.

The smell of pine and sea filled their noses when they arrived.

The stance with the white statues was empty, and the Troll briefly wondered if he had taken too much time bringing his friend there while slowly putting him on the ground. Tyrathan kept his hand on the blue arm to support himself, and both faced the familiar figures of their deceased comrades in silence. A few seconds later, they bowed.

Vol’jin thanked all of them for their sacrifice, for their victory. Without them he would be dead now, and not only because of the battle against the Zandalari.

They took care of him when he was weak and nearly dead, they taught him, they lived with him, fought with him, and he would have gladly died with them. But he had survived, and he had so much to do…

Vol’jin closed his eyes and thanked them again, knowing that he could never put in words the gratitude he felt. They were his brothers and sisters from the other side of the world, he had felt part of them, and he didn’t know what the Pandaren believed to exist after the mortal life, but he hoped for the peace of their souls.

At last he looked at Cuo’s figure, thinking about the glaive he had forged for him, an excellent weapon. He would keep it like the treasure it was, and would never forget them.

He then felt the smaller hand going down his arm, finally gripping one of his thick fingers. Softly squeezing it, Vol’jin raised his gaze and straightened his body, like the man from his side. Tyrathan thought he was only capable of destroying, a cold and effective assassin, but the Troll knew it was not the complete truth. Maybe, if there had been more time, the monks would have helped him find balance, and he could have had the chance to learn that he could create too. 

Looking at him briefly, Vol’jin saw, instead of sadness or pain, a strong determination shining in his emerald eyes. The Troll felt something warm in his chest, a sentiment he tried to hide when he lifted that fragile body again, walking back towards the Infirmary in complete silence.

* * *

After speaking with Taran Zhu, the Darkspear decided to stay in the monastery just a few more days. Of course, he was eager to go back to Durotar and stand up against Hellscream, but the least he could do was help here until some more monks came back. Also, because they had tried to empty the pantry the night before the battle, they kind of didn’t have enough resources to leave Kun-lai. Chen didn’t miss the irony in this, and Vol’jin couldn’t blame him, although he didn’t laugh as hard as the Brew master.

In two days, they finished taking away the troll corpses from inside the Temple, and Tyrathan managed to make his first steps; at the beginning with both the aid of the Darkspear and the pandarens, then, with crutches. In his own words, it was as if he had to learn to walk again.

Some members of the Shadopan, including the sister Quan-li, arrived the third morning. If they were horrified by the state of their home or not, they didn’t say a word; instead, they quickly joined the reparation –and cleaning- tasks.

Taran Zhu spoke with Vol’jin about the Thunder Isle that same afternoon. The old monk told him about both the Alliance and the Horde preparing their movements in the enemy’s territory. The Troll explained to him some good strategies against the Zandalari, and how to provoke a better cooperation with the red faction.

When they finished, the sky was of a warm orange, and, before the Darkspear left, the Shadopan leader let him know that some Cloud serpents were back. It meant resources and more helping hands.

-You’ll be able to depart tomorrow morning, if you wish.

Vol’jin just nodded, and both exchanged deep reverences as farewell.

The Troll went straight to see Chen and talk to him about this. He knew that being apart from Yalia would be difficult for the Brew master, but his old friend didn’t show any hesitation. Then, when he was walking towards the Infirmary, he found sister Quan-li. She expressed both her gratitude to him for fighting for that place and Pandaria, and her wish to thank Tyrathan as well, so they went to see him together. The human was glad to see the female monk too, and they exchanged polite reverences. The Shadopan also informed him about Morelan Vanyst. It seemed he had gone back home.

While listening to this, Vol’jin felt an uncomfortable feeling climbing up his throat. 

“I may not be able to fix things, but to let a lie suggest things are not broken isn’t good. Not for them. Not for me.” Those had been Tyrathan words, and the troll knew that he wanted to go back to his family, understood _why_ he needed to go back to his family. And respected him for choosing so. 

But that didn’t mean he could stop wanting for the man to come with him instead.

After Quan-Li left, the hunter went closer to his friend, but, before he could even open his mouth, the Darkspear spoke.

-I will be leaving tomorrow. - Vol’jin had not expected to sound so harsh, and he regretted it as soon as the words were out. Tyrathan looked at him with a hint of pain in his eyes, but he quickly hid it while straightening his body with the help of the crutches – I see. Too much work waiting in Kalimdor, hm?

The Troll simply nodded.

The human walked back to his bed with relative ease, sitting in the border and placing the crutches next to him. – Then I wish you the best of luck.

Vol’jin swallowed and nodded again, forcing his tone to be genuine. – I hope you’ll be fully recovered soon and can go back home too, Tyrathan Khort.

They stared at each other for seconds that were like hours, until the Darkspear took a deep breath and left, unsaid words stinging in his throat.

That night, Vol’jin walked through the temple’s grounds in silence, thinking. He had underestimated the strength of his affection towards the human, and he regretted how the exchange had ended.

Each time he had been with the human, each time they had touched, each time he had listened to his laugh, each time they had shared the same space, the same thoughts, the same moments in those last days before the battle… he should have known. That his fondness for the man wasn’t _just that_. That the feeling had taken root in his heart. That it was growing stronger everyday, no matter how much he wanted to resist it. He had nearly convinced himself that it was just friendship… until he had seen his friend nailed to the wall by a Mogu spear. And now that they had spent time together without holding hatred or resentment against each other, without having to focus on a battle and with the chance of a future, he had finally accepted it.

Which only made it worse in this situation.

Vol’jin growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was stupid! Ridiculous, unreasonable… The human was not his, and would never be. Not in the way he wished. The hunter was going back to his home, to try to fix the problems with his family, and he was going to be back at Durotar, with his people, who needed him.

He rationally understood this. He really did. As much as it pained him.

The Darkspear stopped walking, and looked up, and the night sky. Once he had called those constellations foreign and unknown. Now, he knew them as well as the ones that could be seen from the Echo Isles. This place had become his home, and this truth he had shared with his friends before the battle. What he had not realised at the moment, and was slowly accepting now, was that the same that had happened here, could not happen elsewhere.

Vol’jin swallowed hard. Outside the Monastery they were enemies. He didn’t feel like this, but he could not change that fact. 

The peace between the Alliance and the Horde was such a distant thought, especially after the events of Theramore

Probably, even if they had made that promise, they would never see each other again. It didn’t really matter if he managed to provoke a rebellion and survived it or not, it didn’t matter if Garrosh was put down or if the man managed to fix all his family problems. Outside Pandaria, he was Vol’jin of the Darkspears, and Tyrathan Khort was a soldier of the Alliance, and a hunter of Trolls. How could… in which circumstances would they meet each other again? If they ever did?

A heavy weight sunk in that blue chest.

_“Never seeing him again…”_

-Maybe it be for the best. - Said the Troll, pressing his forehead against one of the Temple’s stone pillars. 

Suddenly, his ears rose. It was almost midnight, and there was nothing but silence in the monastery. Yet, he heard something… the sound… of wood against stone. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed how close it was, until it stopped. And then started again. With some concern Vol’jin walked inside and followed the echo through familiar corridors, until he came across the human. 

-Tyrathan? – The hunter looked tired, and his bad leg was shaking. No, he wouldn’t have walked alone from the Infirmary to…

The Darkspear went next to him in two long strides – you insane? – he asked, full of worry, supporting the smaller body to ease the weight on his limbs – you are not rec- -

-I’m fine – he almost hissed, visibly relieved for the help. Vol’jin managed to hold him and make him look at his face.

-What are you doing here? – The Troll was experiencing a mixture of surprise and worry at that moment.

-I wanted… - Tyrathan tried to even his breathing, and swallowed – I needed to speak with you.

-Couldn’t it wait ‘til tom- -

-No, it couldn’t. – Was the quick answer – tomorrow you’d be gone, and I need to tell you this now – he had to inhale deep again because of his need for air.

Vol’jin closed his mouth and helped the human sit on the ground, while he kneeled at his side.

-... well?

The man looked into his eyes, glancing down almost instantly and biting his lip. -I… I decided not to lie to myself anymore, yet, I’ve kept hesitating. There are many things I’ve wanted to say, but I didn’t… and now… I… I can’t let you leave without… I have to make things clear.

He looked as if, after all the travel, he hadn’t really thought what he was going to say. The phrase “Shoot first, question later” briefly crossed the Troll’s mind.

Swallowing again, the human closed his eyes and finally said – I… I am a man of actions, not words. – That confused the Darkspear even more, who leaned closer as the other politely requested. Then he felt every single hair from his nape stand on end when Tyrathan placed his hands on his neck, small thumbs reaching the lower part of two long and pointed ears.

Vol’jin found himself not surprised by the fact that the human’s head perfectly fit between his tusks, or that their noses were pressed against each other. All he could focus on was the growing heat in his stomach, and the electricity that ran across his body when he realized what the hunter was doing.

It started as something small, a soft press of lips against Vol’jin’s closed mouth. As if giving him the chance to draw back. He didn’t, and Tyrathan did not hesitate in pushing further after that. Somehow, he managed to open those blue lips, tangling his fingers in the red hair and deepening the kiss, visibly not worried by the sharp fangs and long tusks of his companion. 

The Shadowhunter tried to keep up with the hunter. He distantly recognized what this was, because he had caught glimpses of other races doing it (races without _tusks_ ). However, from witnessing it, to knowing what he was supposed to do, there was quite a jump. Still, he gave his best, mimicking the human’s actions, tilting his head just a bit to see if it changed something. The human used that to deepen the kiss, giving small bites to the Troll’s lower lip too.

Love bites. That was more familiar territory. It made him feel a bit more confident. Driven by this, the Darkspear grabbed the man and lifted his body, making him sit on his lap. It was more comfortable for his neck like this, and the hunter could reach his mouth much better. Vol’jin tentatively moved his hands across the smaller body. Thorough, but careful, he drew the lines of muscle and the bandages with his cold fingertips. It made the human shiver a few times, but he didn’t break the kiss until both of them ran out of air, a short while later.

The hunter kept his head at eye level with the troll, barely moving, barely breathing, and with his hands still tangled in red locks of hair. The Darkspear stared right back at him, mind racing.

He blinked a couple times before managing to get a word out. -… Tyrathan – he called, not earning any response. For a moment, he wondered if the man was regretting his actions just now. He was also distantly aware that his face was feeling very warm. - Tyrathan... - Vol’jin repeated - … what the hell.

The hunter blinked again, as if his mind was slowly coming back on track. First his lips trembled, curving upwards, and then he had the audacity of breaking into laughter. Vol’jin wanted to be upset at him, but that laugh was so sincere that he couldn’t help joining him.

They should have cared if someone listened to them, but they were honestly, freely and happily laughing, because this was a weird scenario, to say the least.

The Troll and the Human pressed their foreheads together, amber reflecting in emerald, and vice versa. - I hope my actions… were clear enough? - Tyrahan asked in a small voice, nearing a whisper.

-I think I understand - the Darkspear said softly, moving back, enough that the hunter’s face was no longer framed by his tusks. The man had shown him his affection in the ways he was used to, and Vol’jin wanted to answer in kind. He moved closer to his face again, from the side this time. Then, the troll rubbed his tusks against Tyrathan’s neck and shoulders, moving upwards to his ear, his temple, brushing against his hair, slowly, softly. He did this a couple of times, all the while, hoping that his human would understand. The man pressed the side of his face against Vol’jin’s when he stopped, and the Darkspear let out a sigh, relaxing into the touch.

Everything he had thought before about them being enemies outside Pandaria was still true, but how could it matter now?

-I better take you back to the Infirmary. – Finally interrupted the Darkspear. His companion nodded. Tyrathan clung on the blue neck, and the troll picked up the crutches with a hand, carefully lifting the smaller body with the other. While they walked back to the medical wing, Vol’jin noticed the man relaxed, tucked into his hold, and he couldn’t repress a wave of fondness invading his chest. 

Tyrathan’s eyes were closed when the Shadowhunter carefully left him in the bed. However, he wasn’t asleep at all, and he grabbed the other’s sleeve when the Darkspear was about to draw back. It drew a smile out of him.

Vol’jin sighed and sat on the mattress, listening to its creaks without worry. He knew it could support his weight too.

The hunter, however, didn’t seem content with this, and he managed to move his weakened body to suggestively leave more space in the bed. The Troll chuckled, easing himself under the sheets, surrounding the smaller body with his arms. Tyrathan extended one hand and reached Vol’jin’s beard, touching it with his index and his thumb, starting a braid with a small part of it.

Sadly, his eyelids became too heavy for finishing it, and his hand stilled.

The Troll smiled and rubbed his tusks against the hoary hair once more. - Sleep.

The human nodded, and finally closed his eyes while two amber irises watched him smile.

Vol'jin remained awake, conscious of the every hour remaining before dawn. Before he had to leave, and they went their separate ways. 

He didn’t remember ever dreading the morning like this, but he also didn’t doubt his choice. It was the right thing. It was the necessary thing. For everyone, even if it tore at his heart.

The troll caressed the hair away from Tyrathan’s forehead, who was completely asleep, and sighed. Morning would come, and he would have to say goodbye to his human. Probably forever.

Even if he didn’t want to.

* * *

Chen Stormstout looked into Yalia’s eyes one more time, and gave her a little smile. She smiled back, and only then did the brew master pick up his cane and luggage, heading to the temple’s entrance. Such a simple way of saying goodbye was enough for the pandaren; it didn’t matter what kind of trials he would have to face in order to help Vol’jin, just thinking in that little gesture, and he was utterly sure about his return.

The Shadopan leader and the Troll were already at the front door, looking like they had spoken about everything they had to, and they were just waiting for Chen, who noticed that the last one was looking somehow… distracted. Without his face-painting and into those pandaren robes, the Darkspear could be mistaken with any other member of his tribe but himself; after all, that was the idea. It would be too risky if anyone recognized him before they were back at The Eco Isles.

However, while finally arriving next to them, Chen noticed that Vol’jin had been directing his gaze towards the building, but quickly glancing back to him, as if trying to hide this action. Before he could ask or realize what was that his old friend was trying to see, a low and polite sound of someone clearing his throat grabbed their attention. Taran Zhu looked at them with inscrutable eyes for a long minute, the three of them in silence, and then, he made a deep and respectful bow. The two outsiders quickly corresponded the gesture, and they stood like that for a good amount of time. When raising his head, the Shadopan’s expression remained neutral, even when he wished them to have a safe trip, but the Troll and the Brew master felt honored by the gratitude the old monk had shown them.

After that, Vol’jin glanced back to the temple only once more, and then turned to the mountain’s path. Accompanied by the clear sun of the morning and the cold air of the peaks, the two travelers began their journey back to Kalimdor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else feels like Vol'jin gets upset when Tyrathan tells him he is going back to his family in the book? Not, upset angry, but upset sad. The stop touching and crossing arms kinda makes me think that, but maybe I am alone?
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! ^^


End file.
